


There's No Stopping My Heart (as Long as I Can Save You)

by nickelsandcoats



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-30
Updated: 2011-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-25 02:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelsandcoats/pseuds/nickelsandcoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill Murray has visions, and there's one he cannot avoid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Stopping My Heart (as Long as I Can Save You)

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://thegameison-sh.livejournal.com/profile)[**thegameison_sh**](http://thegameison-sh.livejournal.com/)'s cycle 4, round 2 challenge: out of the ordinary.

His grandmother called it a curse; at this moment, bleeding out in the sand, seeing John above him, hurt but _alive_ , William Murray calls it a blessing.

  
His dreams were premonitions, except they always came true, exactly as he saw them; little flashes of the future playing out behind his lids as he sweated and cried and laughed through the nights.

People had stories attached to them⎯Murray could see them, floating along like pale grey silk, spinning out a thread to him as he passed.

John Watson’s story was the same pale blue-grey of the eyes of the strange man Murray dreamed about. He hadn’t put two and two together for months, but now his dreams were crystallising⎯centreing around a tall, dark-haired stranger.

Every night, while he slept curled next to John, Murray dreamed of John chasing after the tall stranger, laughing, joy and love writ so profound on John’s face it made Murray weep to see it. Every night, the dreams showed him more and more, until he saw a bomb vest, a destroyed pool, a waterfall. In one night, the stranger went over the falls and never returned, and the joy went out of John. Murray woke John with his cries that night.

On another night, the bomb at the pool killed John and the stranger ( _Holmes,_ a voice whispered, _Sherlock Holmes_ ), and the world descended into chaos.

Another night, and Sherlock went over the falls again, and the man he’d been fighting turned the world into his own dark, twisted image. Murray woke shaking with fear and never slept again that night.

Finally, a night where Sherlock and John survived the pool, survived the falls, and killed this evil, twisted man (his story, whatever his name was, was blacker than the deeps of the ocean), and the world was itself again.

After that dream, Murray sat on the edge of their cot, John snoring softly next to him, and ran his hand over his cropped hair. John had to live through this war. He had to live and leave and meet this Sherlock Holmes. He had to leave Murray behind.

And then, once Murray understood what had to happen, he dreamt his own future⎯something that had never happened before.

 _He and John, on patrol. Laughing. “All right, Bill?”_

 _“All right, John.”_

 _The last words John ever spoke. Bullet⎯tore through John’s chest, killing him instantly. The world descended into chaos as Sherlock Holmes, his friend’s love, screamed with a pain he didn’t understand._

Murray shouted a wordless warning, lurching from sleep and startling John, who reached out a hand and cupped his cheek, murmuring reassurance until he slept and the dream began again.

 _“All right, Bill?”_

 _“All right, John.”_

 _Push John down, out of the way just in time to catch the fatal bullet himself⎯a second tearing through John’s shoulder. Murray bled out in the sand, John’s frantic shouts._

 _“Find him,” Murray choked out._

 _“Who?”_

 _“Holmes,” Murray whispered, and died._

He woke with a quiet gasp.

Six hours later, John turned to him and grinned. “All right, Bill?”

Murray smiled back, sadly. “All right, John.”

The world exploded around him.

“Find him. Find him, John.”

  


***

  
A month and a half later, John Watson stood in St. Bart’s labs, staring at a tall, dark-haired man, who knew everything about him in one glance.

Through his confusion and irritation, John heard Murray’s voice whispering _find him_ over and over as John snapped, “I don’t even know your name,” to the stranger.

The man rattled off more of John’s personal life, and then strode to the door, opening it as he finally said, “The name’s Sherlock Holmes…” and John’s mind whited out as Murray’s voice shouted in triumph.

 _Found him!_

Murray let go of the last little grey thread that held him to John and this Sherlock Holmes.

The world didn’t end.

  



End file.
